WHEN Winter's past, then ev'ry field and hill, The @3SPRING@1 with flowers does fill, Soft winds do cleanse the air, Repel the fogs, and make the weather fair; Cold frosts are gone away, The rivers are at liberty, And their just tribute pay, Of liquid pearls, and crystal to the sea; To whom each brook and fountain runs, The stable mother of those straggling sons. CHORUS @3But then, In a short space, WINTER returns again, Ere@1 Sol @3has run his annual race; But, Ah! When Death's keen arrow flies, And hits poor MAN, Do what he can, He dies; Returns to dust, a Shadow, and a Nothing lies.@1 SUMMER When flow'ry May is past, the Spring is o'er, Then our cool breezes end; For Aeolus does send His sultry blasts from off the southern shore; The Sun bows down his head, And darts on us his fiery rays, Plants droop, and seem as dead, Most creatures seek for shade their diff'rent ways; All things as if for moisture cry, Even rivers with the common thirst grow dry. CHORUS @3But then, In a short space, The SPRING returns again, Ere@1 Sol @3has run his annual race: But, Ah! When Death's keen arrow flies, And hits poor MAN, Do what he can, He dies; Returns to dust, a Shadow, and a Nothing lies.@1 AUTUMN When Summer's done, green trees begin to yield; Their leaves with age decay, They're stript of their array; Scarce can the rains revive the russet field: The flowers run up to seed, Orchards with choice of fruit abound, Which sight and taste do feed: The grateful boughs even kiss their parent ground: The Elm's kind wife, the tender Vine, Is pregnant with her heavenly burden, Wine. CHORUS @3But then, In a short space, SUMMER returns again, Ere@1 Sol @3has run his annual race: But, Ah! When Death's keen arrow flies, And hits poor MAN, Do what he can, He dies; Returns to dust, a Shadow, and a Nothing lies.@1 WINTER When Autumn's past, sharp eastern winds do blow, Thick clouds obscure the day, Frost makes the currents stay, The aged mountains hoary are with snow. Altho' the Winter rage; The wronged trees revenge conspire, Its fury they assuage; Alive they serve for fence, when dead for fire; All creatures from its outrage fly, Those which want shelter or relief must die. CHORUS @3But then, In a short space, AUTUMN returns again, Ere@1 Sol @3has run his annual race: But, Ah! When Death's keen arrow flies, And hits poor MAN, Do what he can, He dies; Returns to dust, a Shadow, and a Nothing lies.@1 |